


When Drabbles Attack

by QueenStrata (yodepalma)



Series: The Shortest Stories [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Gravitation, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Bad Poetry, Crack, Crowley Fanboys His Fangirls, Dialogue-Only, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?, Gen, Human Crowley, Humor, M/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Poetry, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/QueenStrata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In here you'll find a collection of drabbles and poetry.  The first story is (barely) a crossover with Harry Potter; the last one will be a crossover with Gravitation; and the rest are straight GO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DADA Teachers

_DADA Teachers_

_Dear Messrs. Ziraphale and Crowley,_

_Your quick response to my ad in the Daily Prophet is appreciated. I look forward to interviewing the two of you. Enclosed is your Portkey to Hogsmeade._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea," Aziraphale frowned.

"It's a great idea!" Crowley returned. "Think of the books, angel! Rare, old books you've never even dreamed of!" The angel shifted uncertainly. "And quills! I know you miss writing with them! Sucking on them too…."

Aziraphale saw his companion's excited face and sighed. "Very well. But you're buying me every quill I want."


	2. My Fandom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn't believe in the fourth wall.

_My Fandom_

"My fandom has slash in canon." 

"My fandom still hasn't discovered Mary Sue." 

"My fandom is a parody of itself." 

"My fandom kicks out people that write out of character." 

"Good one. My fandom is almost all smut." 

"Ha! My fandom doesn't have any bad smut!" 

"My fandom has made me unsquickable..." 

"My fandom has never encountered the horrors of melodrama." 

"What fandom is _that_?"

"I'm not telling." 

"...It's the fandom of your own unpublished work, isn't it?" 

"No!" 

"It _is_."

"Shut up." 

"Admit it!" 

"Shut up. You're next!" 

"My fandom is an excuse to disguise unheard of religious theories in a context enjoyable to the average person." 

...

"Um. I mean...my fandom wears sunglasses?" 

"Your fandom is Crowley?" 

"No!" ... "Well, yes. More or less." 

"That's almost as bad as a fandom of an unpublished original work." 

"Hey!" 

"Well it _is_."

"At least my fandom has more than one character!" 

"The only fangirl of your fandom is you." 

"That's besides the point." 

...

"I wish _my_ fandom wore sunglasses." 

"I'm not sharing Crowley." 

"Everyone in the Matrix wears sunglasses." 

"Fine. My fandom wears sunglasses that don't need to hook over the ear." 

"Can she really take Morpheus like that?" 

"Yes." 

"Then can my fandom be about tinted glasses?" 

...

"That's not fair." 

"Oh, shut up." 

"Anyway. You with the dark hair and laptop. What about you?" 

"My fandom fangirls me." 

"...That's impossible." 

"Yeah. You can't fanboy your fangirls." 

"Um...guys?" 

"Suit yourselves then." 

"Hey! He disappeared!" 

"Guys?" 

"He _can't_ have disappeared!" 

"Well he did!" 

"Hey..." 

"I know! I saw it!" 

"Then why are you denying it?" 

"I'm not--"

"LISTEN TO ME!" 

...

"That was _Crowley_ , you idiots, and now he's gone!" 

...

"Um. Guys? You didn't all just faint, did you?" 

...

"...Oh well. Crowley? Come back?" 

...

" _Damn_." 


	3. Slash Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are running for office in Afterlife America. (Don't ask how this came about.)

_Slash Potential_

"This ad is supposed to make _who_ vote for us?" Aziraphale asked with a tinge of horror. He held the paper out at arm's length with the tips of his fingers as if he was afraid he would catch some angel killing disease from it. 

"The souls of deprived fangirls," Crowley sighed in return. "And a few fanboys as well, now I think about it. They'll be lining up in droves after this one, trust me." 

"But...slash potential? You do know what that _is_ , don't you?" 

"...The truth?" 

" _Crowley!_ "

"Look, we're both male, right? No, not like that! I mean our human bodies are male. We're the only friends we've got, right? The fangirls are determined to believe we're getting it on in private, aren't they?" Crowley rolled his eyes at Aziraphale's stubborn sulk. "Angel, we're the slashiest supernatural beings in existence. Running for the president of Afterlife America, at least. We've got to work with what we've got and, frankly, this is _all_ we've got." 

"I still don't like it, dear," Aziraphale sighed, though it was obvious that he had given in. "But...well, I suppose it is catchy enough. But what do we do about the...others?" 

"How about: _It's all a lie. Vote Aziraphale and Crowley so we can let the truth out_."

"...You didn't come up with the first one, did you. Who was it?" 

"A fangirl." 

"Of course." 


	4. He Rested

_He Rested_

And on the seventh day, God rested--

Nothing had ever felt so wonderful;

It was His best creation.

He rested for the joy of it--

And laughed at the new idea he had

Because it was just odd enough to work.

And on the seventh day, God rested--

Oh what a mistake that ended up being,

For He got absolutely nothing done!

He rested for the joy of it--

Only two angels would ever feel that joy

And one made an excellent demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I look back on this, this is a really terrible poem. Oh well.


	5. Godhood

_Godhood_

My name is... 

Actually, I’m not entirely sure of the answer to that. I haven’t had a name since I woke up one night about five years ago and found myself in an unfamiliar bed on an unfamiliar world. All I will ever know is that I have some odd powers that make me capable of creating anything out of nothing, that the natives think me to be a god, and that my dreams are full of tall, shining buildings and a blond-haired man whom my mind thinks of as "my angel." Something inside me is calling for a return to this unknown world. I can’t figure out what it is but something is begging me to leave this place that I will never be able to think of as "home." 

I only wish I could. 

The more I see those buildings, the more I desire to find my way up to their tops. The more I see that man, my angel, the more I want to return to him and his continuously open arms, the more I want to be with him and do...do something. I still don’t know what that something is. 

But for now, I must play God. For now, and probably until the end of time, I must live my life alone—and utterly miserable. 


	6. Star

_Star_

The two beings—one dark, one light—stared into the sky. Their eyes were fixed on one tiny white star as if it was the center of their worlds. In a way, it was. 

"Will we ever go back there?" the light one asked, wide blue eyes full of tears. He missed that place, with its humans and books and ducks. He really missed the ducks. 

"Maybe," the dark one murmured, though its snake-like eyes were sad. He wanted his car back. And he wouldn’t mind some ducks either. 

"I miss it already," the light one sighed, putting its head on its companion’s shoulder. "The only good thing about this place is being here with you." 

"Earth needed a vacation anyway," the dark one tried to joke, but gave up when the light one gave him a teary glare. "Don’t cry, angel. There’s nothing to cry about. I’m sure we’ll find someone here." 

The light one just buried his face into the dark one’s shoulder. The dark one sighed and wrapped his arms around the other, closing his eyes as well—from the view, from the memories. 

Overhead the star burned on, cold and white and distant. 


	7. Beautiful Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem.

 

_Beautiful Angels_

How beautiful my angel is,  
Falling in his sin.  
There was a time that he believed  
In my perfected beauty,  
But the mind I gave him got in his way  
And his opinion slowly changed.  
Sure, it was an innocent thought at first,  
Or at least he thought it was--  
And I must admit that I was far too harsh on him.  
He wasn't like the Morning Star,  
This angel wasn't arrogant, didn't think himself better than the others;  
He didn't look at me and wonder if I could do wrong;  
He didn't think much of anything at all--  
It was just a vague concept of beauty,  
A thought that one of my creations could be more beautiful than me.  
I admit that I was jealous for a moment  
And that was why I sent him down.  
But part of me still wondered if I was doing the right thing,  
And his Fall wasn't like the others'.  
It was simpler. Less painful.  
I couldn't stand to hurt him so much.  
Still, now I know that what I did was right,  
Because he was needed to guide that angel  
Who had been far better than me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'd forgotten how bad this poem actually is. XD


	8. Humanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad drabble is sad. :(

_Humanity_

From his earliest childhood, people looked at him with big eyes, full of fear. Anthony Crowley could never figure out quite what made people afraid of him. He’d always felt perfectly normal, or at least thought he’d felt perfectly normal because he could never know just what "normal" really consisted of. Most people flinched at his eyes, with their oddly-shaped pupils and irises and the strange yellow color that they appeared to glow with in the light. A few others—a very few since he’d learn how to control his voice—winced at the hiss that slipped out with every 's.' And the rest of them all said he had this "presence" of evil, said that there was something about him that just screamed danger. 

He hadn’t been able to keep any friends for very long. Not until his twentieth birthday, when an angel had entered his life. Anthony didn’t know, of course, that the man he thought of as an angel actually _was_ an angel, but he did know that this Alexander Ziraphale of his was the first person to accept him as he was—eyes, hiss, and all. 

And if sometimes Alexander had an odd reaction to something he said or did, as if he had been expecting something else entirely, or if sometimes he called Anthony his "dear demon" with eyes that shined suspiciously, what did it matter? He had his angel, the only friend he could ever need for all eternity. Nothing else mattered. 


	9. Punishment

_Punishment_

The boy stared uncertainly at his tiny hands. When had he ever had such hands? For some reason, he could remember having much bigger hands. Much bigger. And his hair, hadn’t it been jet black before? Not this dull light brown color like it was now. And his tongue felt weird in his mouth.... What was wrong with him? 

He didn’t know. He didn’t really want to know. 

The boy shook his head. There was something wrong. He could feel it. But he couldn’t _remember_! Who was he anyway? Why did he have no memories, except a vague image of a different body, of being a different person? 

"Rest easy, dear," a soft voice said, and a blond-haired man peered down at him. His face was kind, if sad. "You were punished for something that you shouldn’t have been punished for. Those memories of yours won’t be coming back." He stared at the man, eyes wide with fear. "My name is Aziraphale. Yours is...is Anthony. I’m going to be taking care of you from now on, okay?" 

He thought for a few moments and stared up at the kind face. It looked familiar. He couldn’t understand why. His mind worked furiously. He would stay. He had to. But to do that, he needed to know a few things. He decided to start simple. The man was smiling at him, waiting for something. 

"Where am I?" questioned the boy. 


	10. Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem.

_Apocalypse_

  
My smile was enough to melt your frozen heart  
And return you to the Light.  
It burnt you to ashes from the inside out,  
And let you experience Love again.  
My smile put the white back in your wings  
And the blue back in your eyes--  
You were an angel with me in heaven.  
But only in my dreams, my dear.  
Only in my dreams.

You got me in your flat, tempted me with lust,  
And pulled me to the Dark.  
I became everything I was meant to detest  
And I Loved it all.  
You managed to shade my wings with black,  
And my eyes saw naught but blood--  
I was a demon with you in hell.  
But it wasn't quite what it seemed, my dear.  
It wasn't quite what it seemed.

I'm sorry, my dear.  
It was never meant to end up this way,  
Though I knew it would.  
Because I can never change what I was created for--  
And did you ever truly realize I was an angel, my Love?  
I am an Angel, my Love.


	11. The Final War

_The Final War_

And there was war in Heaven. 

Aziraphale and the Metatron were, as always, arguing over Aziraphale's friendship with a certain sunglass-wearing demon. 

The Metatron was insisting that Aziraphale drop the Arrangement, the friendship, and, most of all, the drinking. He snarled and raged and threw Aziraphale against a few walls in the city, but Aziraphale wouldn't hear a word of it. Once the Metatron finished being righteously angry, he took a calming stepped back and allowed Aziraphale to have his say. Aziraphale promptly went into a spiel about how lonely it was being the only angel on Earth and how Crowley was the only other being who would be around for the entire time he was stuck there, and finally went into a long list of Crowley's good traits. 

"--And he can tie cherry stems into knots with his tongue, not using his powers!" Aziraphale concluded smugly. 

"Really?" the Metatron asked, suddenly fascinated. 


	12. Leaving Temptation

_Leaving Temptation_

He had to get out. He couldn’t stand being here any more, being stuck in a place where he could never admit what he truly thought of his one life-long companion. He had to run from London, run as long and far as possible. 

His Bentley waited down in the parking lot. He was alone in his flat, as usual, and the entire place was silent—or as silent as it got in London. It wouldn’t be hard to leave...forever. To never see the angel again. To be truly free, for the rest of eternity. Free from temptation—or the worst of it, at least. 

The angel would never understand. Not this. 

It was time to leave. And he would never look back. 

He stepped into the silent hallway, and made his way to the darkness that was the staircase. 


	13. Let There Be Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A poem.

_Let There Be Light_

And God said, let the be light--  
Let it come from the eyes  
Of the shining yellow snake.   
Let there be light and let it shine bright--  
But only for you, my child,   
For he is your salvation.   
And God said, let there be light--  
I won't leave you to the darkness  
Of a world you won't understand.   
Let there be light and let it shine bright--  
Your foe will show it to you  
And he'll save you. From yourself. 


	14. Loving a Demon

_Loving a Demon_

A little boy clad in black-footed pajamas with silver stars and moons padded down the blue carpeted stairs to where a bent gnarled old lady sat watching the night sky out of an open window. He tried to walk up to her quietly, hoping not to pull her out of her thoughts. But the old lady had good ears and she turned to him, half a smile on her wrinkled face. 

"Don’t be frightened," the old lady rasped, holding her gnarled hand out to the boy. "I shan’t hurt you, you know. Nothing shall hurt you tonight." 

"What were you thinking about, great-grandma?" the little boy asked in a small voice. He hated to admit it, but the looks of this lady scared him. He was not used to such age. 

"A day... A day from long, long ago, when a little girl met a dark, secretive man. And fell in love." 

"Great-grandma?" 

The old lady picked him up, groaning as she did so. The little boy was surprised. He didn’t know the wrinkled being before him still had such strength left. 

"You see that dark-haired young man?" the old lady asked, pointing out the window. It was dark out, of course, but the moon was full and a bright beam fell on the two beings sitting outside, arms around each other. If the boy squinted just so, he could make out more than a shining outline. "He was the first man I ever fell in love with." 

"But why’s he still so _young_?" the little boy asked, eyes wide and full of innocent curiosity. 

"He could grow old, but he chooses not to. There are many things you do not yet know of in this world. His kind is one of them." 

"What _is_ he?" The boy stared longingly at the white feathers spreading from the man’s shoulder. He wanted some of them. 

"A demon, child. Yes, one of those demons I read to you about from the Bible." 

"Why him?" The little boy sounded hurt. He knew what his great-grandma was talking about, but he couldn’t understand why she would choose someone so horrible to fall in love with. 

"Because I didn’t know it at first. Because he was the most interesting man I had ever met before that in my life. Because...because he wasn’t so evil as he made himself out to be." 

The little boy’s brow wrinkled in thought. He didn’t understand—couldn’t, not at his age. How could an evil thing not be evil? It made no sense. What also made no sense was why his great-grandma had chosen to age. She could choose, couldn’t she? 

He was never going to grow old, he decided then. 

"Who’s the bright one beside him?" the boy asked, trying to distract his great-grandma from her sadness. 

"He is the reason why my man could not love me and grow old with me. He is the only being the dark-haired man is capable of loving." 

"Is he a demon too?" the little boy asked, peering at the slightly rumpled wings coming out of the bright man. 

"No. He’s an angel." 

The boy tore his eyes away from the two men before him and looked curiously at his great-grandma. His eyes held the questions he wanted to ask, but he didn’t voice them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. 

"You’ll understand things later, love," the great-grandmother murmured, putting her grandson back on the floor. "You needn’t understand just yet. Now off to bed with you, Adam, and no more late-night wanderings!" 

"Yes, great-grandma," the boy sighed, though he didn’t leave immediately. He instead stared up at the old lady before him, head tilted slightly to the side. "Don’t be sad," he said softly. "You should never be sad." And then he scampered off, covered feet padding on the floor. 

Pepper turned to the window, a tear rolling down her wrinkled face. "I wish I didn’t have to be," she murmured softly to herself, closing her eyes so she could not see the demon anymore, so she couldn’t see how happy Crowley and Aziraphale had remained with each other, even after all these years. 

But she still knew they were there, together forever. 


	15. Fighting Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crossover with the manga _Gravitation_.

_Fighting Love_

Aziraphale sometimes felt bad about what he was doing to the two humans, but some things had to be. Above had decided that he and the "wretched snake of Hell" had to partake in a battle to find out who was truly stronger. They had to go to Japan and follow two men around, Aziraphale trying to make them fall in love and Crowley trying to stop it. It was tiring work, especially since the angel was forced to work on a man who not only didn't want to be homosexual, but also had so many problems that he didn't know quite who he was, or what he really wanted. Yet Aziraphale persevered, because Crowley was enjoying himself immensely and Aziraphale hated to ruin his friend's fun, because true happiness like this rarely ever encountered the demon. 


End file.
